


And So We Are Unmade

by Biana_Delacroix



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crime, F/M, Past Indentured Sex Work (referenced), Six of Crows Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biana_Delacroix/pseuds/Biana_Delacroix
Summary: Klaus is feared, Caroline is deadly. Together, they are the darkest nightmares on Ketterdam's streets. As dangerous as they are together, it is nothing compared to when they are forced apart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/gifts).



> Based on the novels 'Six of Crows' and 'Crooked Kingdom' by Leigh Bardugo, I cannot recommend them enough. A very happy Valentines Day to Nik, I hope you have a great day!

_Drip drip drip_

The streets of Ketterdam were slick were rain that night, the gentle dripping of rusted drainpipes the only sound to be heard in the alley where Caroline waited. It was late enough to be considered early, even the most hopeless cases of the Barrel had stumbled out of the gambling halls and passed out in their beds, bellies heavy with drink. Caroline almost envied them. Better to be warm in a threadbare bed than stuck behind crates in a filthy alleyway at some saintsforsaken hour because _some_ people couldn’t be bothered to keep to schedule.

Practiced though she was, Caroline didn’t know how much longer she could take this. Already she’d counted her knives thrice over, imagining how quickly she could pull each one out and bury them in a man’s throat. Very quickly, as it turned out. But if the opportunity presented itself now, she wondered if her limbs wouldn’t be too cramped to carry it out. There would be consequences, but perhaps that was for the best. It would teach Klaus to be on time.

As if he knew just how long to irritate her before she snapped, Klaus Mikaelson emerged at the mouth of the alley, laughing with the man at his side. Caroline knew only the barest details that Klaus had deigned to share with her, it had been a last minute request.

_**xxx** _

_“A moment Caroline, if you please?”_

_A moment was never just that, not for Klaus, but Caroline stayed. The warm hand wrapped around her wrist turned her gently and pulled her back into a dimly lit office, away from the din of the card tables._

_“I have a favour to ask.”_

_Caroline held in a groan, all hopes of sleep slipping away. Klaus didn_ _’t even bother to look chagrined, smirking in a way that both infuriated and amused her. She was his right hand, there was no question whether she would carry out whatever he was about to ask of her. Still, he asked, as if there was some pretense of a choice._

_In a way, Caroline appreciated the gesture._

_“Who am I killing?”_

_Klaus_ _’s smirk widened into something nearly wicked. “Mason Lockwood.”_

 _Caroline frowned,_ _“You’re starting a war with the Lockwoods?” she asked disapprovingly._

 _Anyone else and Klaus might have chafed at someone questioning his orders, but Caroline_ _’s worry only earned a chuckle. “Lockwood’s hardly going to be missed by his family. Richard Lockwood has spent too much time greasing the palms of the Merchant Council to want to see his prospects ruined by his brother who spends too much time at the Menagerie to care about his mysterious disappearance.”_

 _If Klaus noticed Caroline_ _’s minuscule flinch at the name of the brothel which had once been her prison, he didn’t mention it._

_“So there’s no fear of retaliation then?” she asked, a little stiffly._

_Klaus laughed,_ _“Hardly. I’m practically doing the family a favour.”_

 _Caroline cocked her head to the side._ _“Are you?” The chances of Klaus taking jobs from the merchant council were slim, but favours could always be called in for all sorts of uses. Still, he shook his head in denial._

_“No…although I won’t hesitate to remind them of the service we’re doing.”_

_“That_ I’m _doing, you mean?_ _” Caroline retorted, and Klaus smirked wickedly._

_“That you are, sweetheart,” he murmured softly. If Caroline didn’t know any better, she’d say he almost sounded fond._

_But this was Klaus Mikaelson, the Wolf, the Bastard. He didn_ _’t feel, he didn’t care._

_And so, neither could she._

_**xxx** _

It was now or never.

Keeping to the shadows as skillfully as she could, Caroline stood, pulling forth her favourite knife from her boot and readying it in her hand. The cold had sunk into her bones, but nothing could stop the ingrained memory in her fingers and they wrapped around the handle, finding their familiar grip.

At the mouth of the alley, Klaus and the figure she knew to be Mason Lockwood had stilled. Their laughter ceased, and over the drip of water Caroline could hear the low cadence of Klaus’s voice, though she couldn’t make out the words. No matter, it leant a sense of security to the dark, cold night – though she’d never admit to it.

Whatever Klaus had said clearly didn’t go over well with Lockwood and Caroline repressed an exasperated sigh. This was typical of him. He didn’t argue back when Mason raised his voice, didn’t even flinch when the man pulled a pearl-handled revolver from his coat.

But then, why should Klaus be scared? He had Caroline.

The knife sailed through the air, faster than Mason’s bullet. He never had the chance to pull the trigger before the blade in his neck ended his life, and he crumpled to a heap in front of the Wolf.

“Well done sweetheart.”

Caroline would have appreciated the endearment if it wasn’t lost in the dark gleam of victory she could see in Klaus’s eye as he observed the dead body. But then he looked up to where she was coming out of the alley and it was something closer to appreciation that Caroline saw. He offered her his arm – probably playing at being a gentleman – and she hesitantly took it.

Klaus smirked, sensing her bewilderment at his actions, and pulled her closer so that she was neatly tucked into his side, and they were no more than two young lovers, taking a stroll through dangerous streets, mistaking the thrill of danger for the thrill of lust. Not that they would ever be so foolish, Caroline thought to herself dryly. If anything, they made the perfect trap.

“You could’ve done without provoking Mason Lockwood,” Caroline commented after a moment.

“Caroline, the man was stealing from me,” said Klaus indulgently. “Thought it only fair to let him know exactly why he was about to die.”

“And if he’d shot you?”

Klaus laughed like she’d told a particularly hilarious joke. “As if he was faster than you.”

He says it with such certainty, Caroline didn’t know whether to be flattered or not. On one hand, his faith in her had saved her life. On the other, his casual belief that she would always be there on time rankled her. As if she could always be sure to save him, as if he wasn’t taking ridiculous risks…

The realization crept up on her as it had so many times before. She was angry because she was worried, and worrying about Klaus was pointless. He’d laugh off her concern as he did everything else, tell her not to work herself up and count her knives. Getting close to Klaus was pointless, it only meant hurt in the future, and Caroline refused to be as foolish as the girls who threw themselves at him each night, only to be met with a callous dismissal the next morning.

Klaus noticed her silence as they rounded a corner and came up to the doors of the _White Wolf_. The building served as a gambling hall and the headquarters for the Mikaelson family, but for Caroline, it meant a small attic room to call her own. Among the vice and carnality, Caroline had a slice of freedom, indentured though she was. Better to pay off a debt to the Mikaelson family with a knife in her hand than be back in the Menagerie, with leering men pawing at her and the threat of a beating if she didn’t bat her eyelashes and encourage them.

Better the Mikaelsons any day.

“You’re quiet love,” Klaus commented as they made their way through the din of the card tables. He led her up the back stairs towards the upper floors, and Caroline was glad to be away from the crowd. Tonight, she just wanted what scant hours of sleep she could find.

“I’m generally quiet when I’d rather be asleep,” she grumbled. Klaus simply chuckled at her irritation, and kept his hold on her arm.

“Spare me a moment?”

Anybody else and Caroline might’ve put a dagger in their heart for simply suggesting it, but Klaus was looking at her with something approaching sincerity.  She gave in, even as her muscles sang for sleep, and allowed Klaus to lead her into his office.

It was sparse, a practical room for a practical man, save for a few items here and there. All seemingly innocent and random, but Caroline could tell the story behind every one of them. Trophies of Klaus’s victories, reminders of his favourite wins. She wondered sometimes if managing to weasel her away from Pearl made her the greatest trophy of all.

“What did you want to show me?” Caroline asked tiredly.

Klaus barely smiled, a small lift of his lips but for him it practically exuded glee. He walked over to the side of his desk where a sheet covered rectangular object was propped against the side, and presented it to her with flourish.

“I assume you stole that painting?”

“From the Fell’s Estate. Meredith Fell has been boasting for weeks on how much she prides her collection. I decided to see what the fuss was about.”

He didn’t add the part where the Fells had been boasting about their Estate being nigh impenetrable, even for the best thief in the city. But Caroline already knew that part of the story. “And what was so impressive about this one?”

“Come and take a look.”

Caroline indulged him, walking closer to properly inspect the canvas in the early morning light. Klaus awaited her reaction eagerly. He wasn’t dissappointed.

A soft gasp escaped Caroline’s lips as she properly understood what Klaus was trying to do. The painting was a landscape, a perfect rendering of her homeland in the Wandering Isle — how long had it been since she’d seen her home? The city of Ketterdam was all rain slicked streets, a grey and twisting maze, but the place where she’d grown up was wide open, hills as far as the eye could see.

She missed it with every fiber of her being.

“What is this?” she asked, rather dumbly. Through the thick rush of sadness, she can barely register Klaus right next to her, barely a hair’s breadth away.

“A gift. I thought you might appreciate it.”

She does truly. And it’s not Klaus’s fault that her gratitude is accompained by a fresh wave of anger for the people that had kidnapped her and sold her into Pearl’s indenture. But that wasn’t a wound worth reopening just now.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, turning her head ever so slowly. Klaus watched her for one long moment before stepping aside, taking a seat behind his desk. Caroline wasn’t surprised to see that he had schooled his features into a mask of something neutral, all traces of kindness gone. Or perhaps it was always her imagination.

“Thought it might brighten up your room a bit,” he said by way of dismissal. “The place is rather drab.”

Caroline laughed, she couldn’t help it. And it alleviated some of the weight of her grief, but not the tiredness in her bones so she took the painting and left Klaus behind without a second glance. There was no point really, in reading too far into anything he said or did.

He didn’t feel, he didn’t care, he built an empire on the blood of anyone who stood in his way. No time for anyone else. Not that Caroline could ever really reciprocate, Ketterdam had taken her ability to believe in things like hope.

But she held the painting tight and left with a lighter step.

If she had turned around, she might have seen the look on Klaus’s face as he remembered her laugh.

* * *

 

By some miracle of the Saints, Caroline had been allowed to sleep in long into the next day. She didn’t question her good fortune, simply got ready for the afternoon, anticipating that the repose she got would be paid for in kills tonight for Klaus.

But even that couldn’t dampen her spirits. For once, the sun was shining over the city, dispelling some of the greyness, and she wondered if she could find Kat, drag her into spending a day at her favourite chocolate shop.

“Caroline, a moment?”

The chocolate would have to wait.

Klaus stood at the doorway to her room, leaning against the frame without a care, watching her with an amused smile. She swore he knew exactly what sort of day he was ripping her away from, but of course she couldn’t say no. It was her job, but that didn’t mean she had to go gently.

“I hope you know I had plans.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you’re keeping me from my many suitors.”

His eyes flashed then, something dark and vicious in this gaze, but Caroline only caught a glimpse of it before he had a mask of perfect neutrality back. It startled her, frustrated her — Klaus was never forthcoming, but for some reason Caroline felt like he could at least drop pretense around her, they spent enough time together.

But this was Klaus Mikaelson. You never really knew where you stood with him.

“What is it?” she asked again, suddenly eager to escape their banter.

Klaus was all business in a second, straitening in the doorway. “Stefan has an interesting proposition for us,” he said with a gleam in his eyes that promised cruelty. “You’ll want to be there.”

 _I_ _’ll want you to be there,_ is the actual meaning, but Caroline can hardly argue with anyone who tries to give her choice. Wordlessly, she followed Klaus back to his office where Stefan stood waiting, back to them as he stared out the window.

“Stefan, how are you?” Caroline asked warmly. She’d always considered Stefan a friend, he was one of the first besides Klaus to welcome her at the _White Wolf,_ even if Caroline was quick learn that he had his own demons. Everyone knew that Stefan’s vices drove him to ruin on more than one occasion — and apparently, today was one such day.

Stefan’s hair was unkempt, he’d clearly gone for more than one day without a shave. Dark circles underscored bloodshot eyes and he turned to Caroline with none of his usual geniality. Instead he looked sunken, haunted.

Caroline regretted her question immediately. To his credit,Stefan recognized the irony and smiled wanly. “I’ve had better days,” he said evenly.

“I’d hate to see your worse days,” Klaus remarked dryly, taking his seat behind his desk. Caroline moved without even thinking about it, taking her place by his side. It was instinctual, he didn’t have to ask or question it. It was simply how things were.

“Alright mate, get on with it.” Klaus steepled his fingers under his chin, watching the other man with a bored expression. It hid so much, Caroline knew. They didn’t rush Stefan, but let him gather his thoughts before he began.

“I’d like your help,” he said finally. Klaus said nothing, simply let the silence hang. Stefan rushed to fill it. “I want revenge on Damon.”

Caroline quirked an eyebrow, watching Klaus with interest. Damon was the elder of the Brothers Salvatore, and a perpetual thorn in Klaus’s side. He’d been trying to take Klaus’s territory for ages, but was nothing in the face of the Mikaelson family. Still, the chance to take Damon out permanently was almost too good an opportunity to ignore. And Klaus could look as bored as he wanted, she knew that he was immediately interested.

“Damon…can I assume he’s still greasing the palms of the Merchant Council?” Klaus asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Stefan nodded eagerly, eyes alight. “Tipping them off to the gangs’ activities while trying to start one of his own.”

“Such disrespect,” Klaus said, almost softly, as if he wasn’t imagining squeezing the air out of Damon Salvatore’s throat.

Caroline rolled her eyes, there was a limit to how much of Klaus’s theatrics she could take. “What do you need us to do Stefan?” she asked bluntly.

If either of them were surprised at her forwardness, they didn’t show it. “There’s a ball, thrown by the de Martels,” Stefan said eagerly. “He’ll be there, along with…”

Stefan trailed off, looking off to the side. “Out with it,” Klaus demanded.

“Her name is Elena,” Stefan admitted. “We are — we _were_ — together. Until Damon stole her away.” The way his face twisted made the smirk on Klaus’s face widen, while Caroline just rolled her eyes. Men. So predictable.

“I doubt he ‘stole’ her,” she muttered, but this time she was ignored, the pieces of a plan coming together in Klaus’s mind.

“Say no more, mate.” Klaus stood, a wide smile on his face. “I’ll expect payment.”

“Of course,” Stefan nodded immediately, reaching into his coat, but Klaus waved him off. “Discuss the terms with Elijah, I’ve a plan to perfect.”

With a wave of his hand, Stefan was shuffling out of the room, standing slightly straighter for whatever that was worth. Caroline watched him go with no small amount of worry. Despite how this place had hardened her, she still held onto her worry for others and for Stefan’s sake she hoped that he didn’t lose himself to revenge.

“What do you think?” Klaus asked Caroline after the door was shut soundly after Stefan’s departure.

“I think Stefan needs help that won’t come with killing his brother,” Caroline replied honestly.

Klaus smirked, half vicious, half playful. It was masterful how he could pull that off. “And that’s precisely why I don’t intend to kill him.”

“Then how— _Elena._ _”_

“Elena.” Klaus stood, walking to the side of his desk where he could lean against it, closer to Caroline than strictly necessary. Neither moved away.

“Well, have fun with it,” Caroline said with forced cheer, trying not to think about how she could see Klaus’s neck through the open collar of his shirt.

“What sort of costume would you like?”

Caroline shook her self out of her stupor, sure that she had heard him wrong. “A…costume?”

“From the Komedie Brute,” Klaus said. “We’ll avoid the more outlandish ones shall we? Perhaps the Dark Lady.”

“Why do I need a costume?” Caroline asked dumbly.

Klaus cocked his head to the side,regarding her as if she were simple. “For the masquerade ball tomorrow,” he said slowly, drawing out his words as if for a child. Caroline repressed the urge to hit him.

“Why do need _me_ there?” she asked.

Klaus’s expression darkened and Caroline wondered for a second if she’d questioned his orders too much. It was no secret that she was his right hand, but for a task like this she’d expected he’d take his brothers and kidnap the girl without any fuss. No need for Caroline to throw knives or be present at all.

“You’ll be there, Caroline.” It’s a direct order, and it send a cold feeling over her that she can’t quite explain, despite it being very much within Klaus’s right. He must have seen the apprehension on her features because he hastened to continue.

“Do you think I would run this without you?”

Honestly? Yes. But there was an unnerving stillness about him that told Caroline he was dead serious and would not be swayed. And since she couldn’t find grounds to argue, Caroline was forced to get herself used to the idea very quickly.

“I don’t mind the Dark Lady…and you’ll be the Mad Imp?” she asked, trying to rid the heavy silence that hung over them.

It appeared to work, Klaus grinned broadly. “Well, I’ve certainly been called mad,” he said with a wink. “I think we’ll be able to make this work.”

* * *

 

Between a masquerade and a dirty alleyway, Caroline would take the alley.

The only thing giving her any comfort was the feel of her knives strapped to her body, along her legs and forearms. If needed, she could pull any one of them in a second and have them buried in an assailant’s heart. She considered killing just to get out of this.

“Smile a bit sweetheart, we’ve got a full night ahead of us.”

Perhaps she should just kill Klaus and get it over with.

“I could have stayed in the shadows with the help,” she groused. Her only consolation was the costume of the Dark Lady with involved a heavy black cloak with long slits for her gloved arms. A dark mask covered most of her face and she was easily concealed amongst the other women who had arrived in similar costumes.

“You could have, but this is so much more fun.”

“For you.”

“Have faith, love.” Klaus’s face might have been covered with the mask of the Mad Imp but Caroline could imagine him winking at her all the same. “The plan is simple enough.”

“If you say so.” She’d have to have faith that his plan would work as so many others of his schemes had, and to be fair, Klaus Mikaelson never had a plan that went wrong. It helped that in every one of his brilliant ideas, she was usually perched somewhere high with a blade in her hand, not standing in a ridiculous costume right in the middle of a merchant’s home.

She was so busy noting every exit in the room that she nearly missed the feel of Klaus taking her hand and pulling her into an embrace. Momentarily startled, she stared up at him through her mask with wide eyes until she registered the sound of the musicians and realized that se and  Klaus were _dancing._

 _“_ You know how to do this?” Caroline asked, slightly stunned.

Klaus hummed in low agreement, carefully scanning the room as he turned Caroline in time with the music. “You forget that my mother would have insisted.”

She would have. Merchant families were supposed to project certain qualities, after all.

“Does this remind you of…” Caroline trailed off. She never knew how to bring up the subject. Saints knew Klaus barely ever did.

“Does this remind me of my father?” There was no disguising the edge of bitterness. Being in a mansion that was so much like his childhood home was affecting him more than he would like to admit. “It reminds me how glad I am the bastard is dead.”

Dead because Klaus has slit his throat. Caroline suppressed a shiver, even though it was nothing new. Klaus may have be reticent but Kol was more than happy to tell the story over a few drinks. Even Elijah and Rebekah could be forced to part with details, so the entirety of the Wolves knew the story of how Klaus had rebelled against his family’s merchant roots, killed the father who hated him and ran for the Barrel, taking his siblings with him.

It was a story that Klaus had built the Wolves upon, whispered late at night over hidden games of cards, shared with wide eyed new recruits with embellished details for flair. But Klaus himself rarely ever spoke of it, and Caroline knew why. There was no shame for him, but he was happy to let the rumours grow. Patricide only furthered the mythos of Klaus Mikaelson, reminding everyone that he would happily kill his own family, Saints help you if you crossed him.

May the Saints help Damon Salvatore tonight.

Caroline forced herself back into the moment, remembering that they were going through this ridculous charade for a reason. Klaus was already moving them through the crowed smoothly, barely a step out of tune.

“And there they are,” Klaus whispered. Caroline wondered how he could sound so menacing and yet so charming to her at the same time. She followed his gaze to see a tall, dark-haired masked man part the crowd. On his arm was another Dark Lady, costume identical to Caroline’s. This could only be the famed Elena who had helped break Stefan’s heart.

Klaus stepped away from Caroline ever so slightly. “No mourners.”

“No funerals,” she replied quietly. And then she was off, weaving through the crowd so swiftly she might as well have been smoke. Even if she wasn’t as stealthy as she was, they likely wouldn’t have noticed, the De Martels kept liqour flowing freely, making everyone sloppy. It was insultingly easy to get close enough to Damon, though she was forced to stay in the shadows, observing only the sight of his back. It was enough.

Caroline counted the seconds in her head, ready at the exact moment the lights cut. Shrieks went up from the party goers, the shrill orders of the Aurora Del Martel to her servants rising above the din. Faint flames flickered from the few indentured Inferni, and by their dim light, Caroline slipped forward, knocking straight into Elena’s back.

“ _Damon!_ _”_

The man in question turned at the sudden jostle but saw nothing but a Dark Lady standing in Elena’s spot, the rowdy crowd easily covering the switch. His mask covered most of his face and at any rate, it was too dark to make out much, but Caroline felt a cold shiver run down her spine as he stared down at her. She prayed to the Saints that nothing would knock back her hood and reveal her blonde hair, but all she needed was another minute.

“Are you alright?” he asked, raising his voice over the din.

Caroline nodded, keeping her head low. The crowd screamed as a sharp _BANG_ punctuated the air, accompanied by a bright flash from one corner of the room.

Whatever uneasiness she felt evaporated with relief, that was the signal that Klaus had Elena and she needed to leave. The flash bomb had only incited the crowd further and they were near hysterical, making it simple for Caroline to slip away from Damon’s side and creep towards the mansion’s kitchens. Predictably, the staff were gone, drawn out to help settle panicked guests. Caroline picked up the ends of the Dark Lady’s cloak and nearly sprinted to the back door, ready to have this ridiculous night come to an end.

“Caroline.”

 The wraith skittered to a stop, cursing the noise inside for causing her to miss the person standing at the door — except _no one_ was supposed to be there.

“Stefan?!”

He looked contrite, and Caroline’s hand immediately flew to the dagger strapped to her forearm, only to find her arm suddenly heavy and useless. She watched her supposed friend in horror as her mind clouded and her bones became dead weight, lulling her into a sleep that she fought desperately to resist.

“Stefan—”

“I’m sorry Caroline.”

Those were the last words she heard before a bottomless darkness took her.

* * *

 

Not many people in Ketterdam knew about the tunnels that ran underneath the city. Not that there were many, the canals made it difficult to build underground extensively. But some were there, old and forgotten, and there was one such running underneath the _White Wolf_ _,_ which Klaus had happily repurposed into a dungeon of sorts.

Excessive, Caroline had called it during her first week there.

It was certainly useful now.

“Please, please, _please_ let me go!”

Elena’s snivelling echoed through the cell, grating on Klaus’s last nerve. She was lucky that she was still alive, because whenever Klaus looked at her, he saw a proxy for Damon Salvatore, and it was all he could do not to rip her heart out.

His depth and breadth of his anger surprised him. Elena was here, the perfect piece in the game between him and Salvatore. If he played the game right, he could use her to bring down the bastard’s businesses and take them for himself.

But when he tried to see the future of his strategy, all he saw was the absence of blonde curls.

Elena may have been here but Caroline wasn’t and so all he saw was red.

“ _ENOUGH!_ _”_ he roared. Elena had been properly secured to a chair in the middle of her cell, still whimpering pathetically. “One more sound, and I’ll cut off your fingers one by one and send them to your lover in a box.”

Kol stood up from where he had been securing Elena tightly, watching his older brother through narrowed eyes. One quick nod to the side and Klaus took the hint, leaving Elena to her self-pity while they walked outside, slamming the door with a resounding _thud._

“You’re out of control,” Kol said quickly, the only person who wouldn’t fear Klaus’s temper. It spoke to how agitated Klaus really was that he didn’t break his brother’s knee for that comment.

“You don’t know that Salvatore has her.”

Klaus growled, punching a fist into the rock tunnel wall. “Caroline wouldn’t deviate from a plan. If she’s not here, something is very wrong.”

“The plan went off without a hitch!”

“Damon has her.”

Both brothers turned, pistols already drawn and pointed at Stefan before he had the last word out. They relaxed marginally when they saw who it was, but Klaus watched him with narrow eyes, his throat running dry. Caroline was never late, never deviated, but it was one thing to have suspicions and another thing to have them proven, no matter how good Klaus was at knowing the game.

“And how,” Klaus asked, his voice low and cold, “does your brother have Caroline.”

Stefan watched Klaus for a moment, his stare wide and unblinking and in that moment Klaus realized that in his zeal to take down Damon, he failed to notice something very important. Caroline would have — hell, Caroline probably had, but kept it to herself because she knew he wouldn’t listen. What Klaus had failed to realize was that Stefan Salvatore had a touch of madness in his eyes, and it had made him mad. Desperate, even.

“What did you do, Stefan?”

“Damon wanted to take you out, asked me to help him.” Stefan licked his lips nervously, rocked back on his heels and tried to avoid Klaus’s unwavering gaze. “He’s been asking around, asking for names in the Wolves. Caroline’s kept coming up, he wanted to kill her, destroy your best asset.”

Klaus seethed quietly but didn’t say a word. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kol dart a glance between the two of them, waiting for the inevitable. It would surely come.

“He asked me to go to you with plan, to say that I wanted revenge, and to lure you both into a situation where he could take Caroline before either of you realized what was going on.”

“But you weren’t entirely honest with him, were you?” Klaus asked. There was a terrifying congeniality to his tone, as if they were discussing the canal routes. The picture was forming in his mind and he understood now, understood how they had crafted this around him, how the man in front of him had managed to be so overlooked that he’d surely dug his own grave twice over.

Stefan darted his eyes nervously around the tunnel, resting on the door of Elena’s cell. “Damon thinks I’ve forgotten her,” he said quietly. “He thinks that she loves him, but she barely knows what he’s really capable of.”

“You sick bastard,” Kol spat. “You crossed both of them!”

Stefan sucked in a breath, running a tired hand through his hair. “I had to get Elena far away from Damon, give her a chance to listen to me without the shadow of him!”

“And you gave Caroline as collateral!” Kol snarled

Klaus said nothing, simply watched Stefan with an cold, unblinking stare.

“I can help you get her back, I know where she is.”

Klaus took one step forward.

“I never wanted her to get hurt, Klaus, I knew she could take care of herself!”

Another step.

“Damon won’t kill her as long as you have Elena.”

“I see,” Klaus said quietly. “And what will stop me from killing you?”

Stefan wasn’t able to offer a defense, as Klaus’s fist sailed through the air and connected with his jaw, a sharp _crack_ echoing off the rock. And once the first blow landed, Klaus was on him like an animal, like the Wolf the city thought him to be, and with every hit landed his hands came back soaked in more blood but still not enough for his liking. It almost surprised him, the depth and breadth of his ferocity, a rage not felt since Henrik’s death, a rage that demanded retribution that would come in slowly ending Stefan Salvatore’s life.

Caroline would have told him to stop. But Caroline wasn’t here.

“Nik — _NIK!_ Elijah, help me get him up!” Kol’s shouts barely registered, nor did the fact that at some point, their older brother had joined them. Strong hands pulled at his arms, stopping his vicious assault and Klaus snarled against them, ready to spill more blood if necessary. They pulled him up, Kol’s arm winding around his neck and keeping him in a vice grip.

“He knows what his bastard brother’s plan is, he’s our best shot at getting her back!” Kol yelled, hoping to land reason somewhere in between his brother’s rage.

The voice in the back of Klaus’s head that was sharp and clever told him that his brother was right, but the red haze didn’t dissipate. Still, he felt a flood of grim and sadistic satisfaction at the the blood covering Stefan’s face, barely noticing the pain flaring in his own wrist. He didn’t care how close Stefan was to death, there was a job to be done.

“Tell us everything Damon has planned,” he ordered, shaking free from his brothers’ holds. “And if any part of it is wrong, I’ll take great care in killing Elena, _slowly_ and right in front of you.”

* * *

In another cell, in a another tunnel, in another part of the city, Caroline came to. She quickly assessed the shackles on her wrists that kept her chained to a wall and shifted uncomfortably on the damp earth floor. What she wouldn’t give to be an Inferni right now. The cloak of her costume was gone and somene had taken her knives — her stomach rolled at the thought.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so defenseless.

But she had her wits and Saints help her, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Before she could formulate much of an escape plan, the door to her cell creaked open, two figures ambling inside. Immediately her limbs felt heavy, the familiar effect of Grisha magic. Caroline fought to keep her head up, and saw a sweet faced young woman coming forward, hand extended. No doubt the heartrender who had dropped her back at the De Martel mansion.

“That’s enough April, I need her awake to hear this.”

Ice flooded her veins, a tightening in her chest that she hadn’t felt in ages. She’d never seen Damon Salvatore’s face. It hadn’t mattered because Klaus knew what he looked like, as did most of the Wolves. It had been incidental, that Caroline had only ever seen a costumed back, a masked face. Never the man himself.

She saw him now. She’d seen him before.

Not within the walls of the _White_ _Wolf,_ not on the streets of Ketterdam. Damon Salvatore’s face was housed in the back of her mind, in the bank of memories from the Menagerie, one of the nightmares that she had worked so hard to forget.

Once upon a time, Caroline had been a scared girl in Tante Pearl’s silks, and Damon had been a leering customer, willing to hand over a handful of coins for a few nights. Her life hadn’t mattered much to him then and she doubted very much that it mattered to him now.

“Hello there,” Damon crooned, squatting low to meet her eyes. “I remember you.”

She spat in his face.

Damon’s pretense of cordiality fell, his face twisting into something vicious. He lashed out and Caroline didn’t have anywhere to dodge his backhanded slap, plan exploding behind her eyes. She could taste blood but willed herself to focus on what he was saying to her, understand his plan so that she could work her way out of it.

“I didn’t believe Mikaelson’s wraith even existed, and I still have trouble believing that she’s one of Pearl’s old whores,” Damon snarled at her. “But now that the truth’s on the table, I think I have a couple of options. I could sell you back to Tante Pearl whole —”

Caroline couldn’t pretend her heart didn’t stop for a second.

“—or I could send you back to Mikaelson in pieces. Your choice.”

Caroline wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of attempting negotiations and so remained stubbornly silent, while Damon just sneered at her one last time before rising to his feet.

The heartrender, April, looked between the two of them nervously. “Should I—  put her to sleep?”

Damon looked Caroline over with disdain. “Leave her. Let her stew in pain, I want Mikaelson to know she suffered.”

“He won’t care,” Caroline spat suddenly. It was out of her mouth before she realized she’d said it, and as soon as the words were out, the truth of them crashed over her. “Klaus is smart, he can find other killers in the city. He won’t bother coming for me, not when he’s got Elena.”

Damon’s bravado slipped at that, and a flash of real fear crossed his face. He masked it quickly though. “I’m calling your bluff, blondie. And if I find out he’s done anything to Elena, I’ll pay it back so you better hope she’s comfy.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, April scurrying after him. Caroline was left in near darkness, the torch outside her cell casting dancing shadows through the narrow slats on the door. Damon would torture her for fun and she had no guarantee that Klaus would come.

The thought stung, but Ketterdam had taught her to value bitter truths over kind lies. Klaus had killed his father to build his legacy, there was very little he wasn’t willing to do in the name of protecting it. Including leaving her to her fate if it meant he could negotiate a better deal.

If she wanted to get out of this, she was going to have to get out of it herself.

* * *

The Eil Komedie was so quiet that a pin drop would likely be heard. The contingent from the Wolves crept through the thick darkness, making their way into the theatre’s house and carefully wandered down the path towards the stage.

There was nothing and no one, the silence making it seem as though this was all a ruse and Damon Salvatore had tricked them all.Not that Klaus believed it — Damon was toying with him, trying to tease out his anger, let his emotions get the better of him. Salvatore was convinced he had found the one chink in Klaus’s perfect armour and perhaps he had. But if he thought that would be enough, he was as stupid as his brother.

“Show yourself, Salvatore,” Klaus drawled, lazy and smooth as if he were calling the man for a game of cards. Soft whimpers came from Elena who was being frog-marched between Kol and Enzo, a tight blindfold over her eyes. Dim lights illuminated the rows of faded red velvet seats and they moved forward slowly, looking for any sign of life.

Front row center, they found it.

“Nice to see you Mikaelson,” Damon said, rising from his seat. He strode over to meet them at the front of the aisle, glancing behind Klaus to see Elena, suddenly craning her neck at the sound of Damon’s voice.

“Damon?! Is that you?!” she cried.

Damon clenched his fists, his calm facade slipping quickly. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Elena,” he called out, watching her with muted desperation. He looked back at Klaus, sneering. “She better be fine, Wolf.”

“Haven’t harmed a hair on her head,” Klaus said with a dark smirk. “Can’t say the same for the rest of her.”

Damon’s fists clenched at his side as his rolled back his shoulders and faced Klaus with a cruel smile. “Your wraith may not be as useful as she once was.”

Klaus didn’t flinch, barely reacted at all. “Where is she?”

“Somewhere we can kill her easily.”

Klaus smirked then, with no humour in his eyes. “It could never be easy, Salvatore. I suspect you're about to learn that.”

* * *

Caroline tugged at the shackled one more time, her hand protesting with sharp pain. It was large and she could just about see a way to get herself out — but it would require drastic measures.

For one moment, she let herself think of her room at the _White_ _Wolf,_ the painting Klaus had given her, the memory of first meeting him. Even now, for one moment, she entertained the thought that he’d come for her, rescue her from this place.

And then that moment ended.

Caroline gritted her teeth and readied herself for what she had to do.

_SNAP_

One sickening crunch later and Caroline wrist was snapped and free. She was spared the pain of having to do it twice, pulling a pin from her hair that Damon’s goons had missed, silently thanking Rebekah for insisting on doing her hair so impractically for the ball.

Once she was free, there was the matter of getting past the door. But Caroline was on her feet, and still had one good hand, and her anger was starting to take over. She didn’t care if Klaus was here or not, she was ready to take down Damon herself.

She gathered a breath and let out an ear splitting scream, flattening herself against the wall next to the door. Guards were predictable, and as long as she was viable leverage, they’d need her to be alive. Not that they wouldn’t mind shutting her up a little, and when the door flew open, that’s just what they were planning to do.

 Unfortunately, Caroline was quick. She was on one in a second, snapping his neck and grabbing his dagger from his belt, hurling it straight into the neck of the second. Her wrist screamed in pain, but she couldn’t spare it any mind, she had to figure out the fastest way out. Instinct taught her to keep close to the shadows, and she slipped through the tunnels like air, hoping against all hope that the Grisha working for Damon was stationed somewhere else.

The tunnels were long and dark, and it was easy enough for Caroline to find the end of them and creep up the wooden stairs to a large space…and _curtains?_ Large curtains were in front of her, blocking out most light and as Caroline’s eyes adjusted to her surroundings she recognized scaffolding and the sparse decorations of a stage. So he’d been keeping her under the _Eil Komedie_ theatre then?

Caroline’s mind raced, trying to remember everything she knew about the building, not that she had a lot of time to take in shows. But as she craned her neck upwards, she realized that the ladders and scaffolding traveled upwards towards the ceiling…and the roof. Any roof in Ketterdam was an easy escape route, and Caroline could taste freedom.

She kept in a triumphant laugh and sprinted, making no sound, over to the nearest mounted ladder. It was too easy. She savoured the thought of what Damon’s face would look like. Higher and higher she crept, keeping quiet over the faint rumbled of voices below. The  heavy curtains of the stage kept her from sight, and by the time she reached the ceiling, she would be too high for anyone to notice.

The ladder gave way to a maze of catwalks that crisscrossed the high vault of the theatre’s ceiling. Caroline picked her way onto one and prepared to run for the access door to the roof.

So close.

_“Where is she?”_

Caroline froze, recognizing the voice. She looked down to where there was a small group of people facing another, and her heart nearly broke through her chest. Klaus had come for her.

Klaus had come for _her._

Caroline crouched down, sure that the shadows kept her hidden but unable to tear herself away from the exchange.

Another man came out of the the theatre’s curtain and hurried to Damon’s side. Caroline was too high up to make it out, but if she had to guess, the way agitated way he rocked on his heels told her that he’d found the two dead bodies in Caroline’s cell.

Damon faced Klaus again and after a moment spoke. “How about a negotiation Mikaelson?”

“I’m not in the mood, Salvatore.”

“Hear me out,” Damon cajoled, spreading his arms wide in a show of joviality. “Let’s negotiate a deal between our gambling houses, there’s enough sin in this city for the two of us. A merger would make us both rich.”

“And in return?” Klaus asked, voice tight.

“Hand over Elena, and I’ll give you a majority share in everything. I’ll sell your wraith back to the Menagerie and we’ll split the money from her.”

It was a good deal. It was a _very_ good deal, and could end all of this right now. Caroline’s heart sank as she realized that this was the smart move, the pragmatic move, the move that Klaus was smart enough to take. She rose back to her feet, ready to complete her escape. She couldn’t begrudge Klaus his business sense but she didn’t have to hear him take the deal.

“Rot in hell, Salvatore.”

Caroline froze. Klaus hadn’t taken Damon’s deal.

Klaus was snarling now, vicious and ready for blood. “Show her to me now Salvatore or I’ll kill your bitch where she stands!”

Damon was clearly agitated now, desperate and seeking a way out. “She’s not important!”

“Where. Is. _Caroline?_ _”_

“She’s already dead! My men killed her when she wouldn’t stop putting up a fight.”

For a moment, Klaus was completely still. In the next second, he was holding a smoking gun and Elena had dropped dead to the floor.

_“NO!”_

Chaos erupted, shots flew as Damon’s men rushed the Wolves, Caroline watching in undisguised horror. She was no stranger to violence but this was her new family and she would be damned if she saw them die. A coiled rope hung on the wall next to the scaffolding and she wasted no time availing herself of it, tying it around the railing and throwing it over, letting herself drop down through the theatre and land like a cat at the side of the seats. Vaulting the seats easily, she finally reached the aisle where the fight was escalting, running up in time to see Damon’s revolver get a clean shot at Klaus.

But the gun never fired, and Damon was rewarded with a dagger to the heart.

Klaus saw his enemy crumple, the rest of Salvatore’s men spooked by the death of their leader, scattered like vermin. His Wolves would take care of them, but he just turned around to see who was responsible for his life.

“ _Caroline.”_

* * *

The feel of her knives flying from her fingers was genuinely euphoric, Caroline hadn’t even realized how much she relied on them to feel safe. After having them taken from her, she’d taken great comfort in slitting the throat of the guard who was hoarding them.

She wished she had one now, but her broken wrist had been badly abused and demanded her attention. She’d over-exerted herself, as Kat had informed her and now it needed time to heal. It wasn’t easy to focus on the pain though, not when the person tending to her demanded so much more attention.

“You came,” Caroline said quietly.

Klaus paused for a moment from bandaging her wrist, considering the injury carefully. If Damon Salvatore wasn’t dead, Caroline was sure Klaus would happily torture him for the rest of his days. But the man was doomed to join the ghosts of Ketterdam, his brother doomed to reconcile himself to the fact that his love and his family were gone.

She wondered if Klaus would sentence Stefan to anything harsher, or simply let him sink away under the weight of his misery. She wondered if it would be kinder to simply slit his throat and help him find peace.

But the taste of her blood lingered on her tongue and for now, Caroline was in no mood to show mercy.

“Of course I came,” Klaus said quietly, not meeting her eyes.  “You deserve it.”

Caroline wondered when she had become someone this city felt was deserving of something other than the torment she’d become so used to. Fighting for her right to live, that she was used to. This was something else entirely.

“I didn’t think you’d turn down a good deal.”

Klaus managed to face her then, looking at her intently. “It wasn’t a good deal. Not for what I’d be losing.”

Caroline’s lips lifted into a small smile, heart thudding in her chest. She didn’t know how to respond to this side of him, even if she’d wished to see it a thousand times over. Here in his room, in the past half hour, he’d been more sincere than the entirety of their relationship.

“You need more bandages,” Klaus observed, stepping into the adjoining bathroom to get some, leaving Caroline perched on the side of his bed. Saints, she was on Klaus’s bed. She’d wondered once if he ever slept. Poking around felt intrusive so she stayed where she was, but let her eye wander. There were some books, faded pictures of his family on a desk…and paints?

“You paint?” Caroline blurted out.                           

Klaus chuckled as he walked back to her, kneeling down and attending to her wrist again. “Is it so surprising?”

“Yes!” Caroline insisted. “What…what do you paint?”

Klaus stilled completely before looking up at her. “Landscapes.”

Caroline gasped softly. _Landscapes._ He hadn’t stolen the painting of her home. He’d made it himself.

Caroline didn’t overthink the next thing she did, she didn’t want to scare herself or him. Instead, she tipped her head forward and closed the small gap between them, pressing her lips to Klaus’ and congratulating herself for being the first person in ages to take Klaus Mikaelson by true surprise.

His lips were soft, _he_ was soft, softer than he would ever let another living creature realize. Caroline savoured the taste of scotch and smoke and before she could pull away, a strong hand had wound through her hair and kept her pressed against him.

Klaus wasted no time and gave no quarter, tasting her like a man possessed. They sank into one another, into a peace that neither thought they would ever deserve, let alone receive.

Before Klaus could move closer, Caroline’s wrist shot through with pain and she whimpered softly. He pulled away, watching her carefully and she gave an apologetic smile. “We might have to wait—”

“I have endless patience for you, sweetheart,” Klaus said roughly, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Klaus — are you sure you can do this?”

He exhaled deeply, opening his eyes to stare straight at her. “No mourners, no funerals, sweetheart. I’m willing to take the risk. Are you?”

There was no answer she could coherently give. Instead, she kissed him again, and let their broken, battered souls try to heal.

For now, they would try. It was no secret that both of them thought love could be a weakness.

How curious now, that they were both so willing to be made weak.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That was incredibly fun to write, hope you all have a great Valentine's Day with significantly less bloodshed.


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